


Love, Come Back

by moonlattei



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Western, Blood and Injury, Cowboy Alternate Universe, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Needles, Smoking, Stitches, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29865702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlattei/pseuds/moonlattei
Summary: ''Come back to me,' Dream breathes.The coldness in George's eyes leaves Dream dumbfounded.He raises his revolver, pointing it at Dream and with a long exhale, he pulls the trigger.'~In the Wild West, Dream has never found himself at home; constantly moving and disconnected, his only company was himself. But when he meets George, he finds that home is closer than he realised.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue

  


It's life’s harbours that drive Dream forward. The constant buzz in his ears gnaws his mind like a gnat that pushes him to his limits. He’s not fully recovered yet; the ache in his gut carries like a weight before eventually, he stops, hand clutching his stomach with a sharp gasp. He’s ripped his stitches. 

‘Fuck,’ he hisses. Dream rubs the horn on his saddle as Hecuba, his horse, slows to a stop. With a heavy breath, he carefully throws his leg over the saddle and hitches her to a nearby tree. He doesn’t have anything; no bedroll, food or water. Only the clothes on his back, Hecuba and his gun. A small dot of blood traces his shirt, and with a sigh, he lifts the cloth to see the mess of his wound. 

A sudden dizzy spell hits him as he clutches the base of the tree, the blood now dripping to his feet as he sits slowly. 

‘Fucking George.’ 

  


* * *

  


In 1889, the wild west era was mostly eradicated. The titanic wave of industry exploded through America, leaving the outlaws and adventurers mostly extinct. 

Yet, despite this, a young man named Dream is riding through Green Field, a rifle on his back and bouncing to the rhythm of his horse. He has a bandana around his neck to escape the dust, and he’s clutching his reins tight, turning the soft leather between his thumbs. With his legs, he presses against his horse gently, slowing her to a stop once he finds himself in front of a small town. Panting, Dream throws himself off Hecuba, reins still in hand and leads her to the town. ‘C’mon girl,’ he nicks, pulling quietly at the leather. Hecuba follows. 

  


It’s the un-ceremonialism of the town that surprises Dream as he walks into the street. It bustles with farmers, men in suits and drunkards falling over themselves, bumping into Dream as he hitches Hecuba outside a hostel. He rents a room, throwing his bag next to his bed and sitting on the bed. He rubs his face, a tired huff escapes his lips. The silence is almost deafening as he sits anxiously on the mattress. Rubbing his knees, he stands and leaves the building.

The street is muddy, tracks of horses, carriages and footsteps line the streets as Dream walks swiftly to the saloon. The dusk sky paints a mix of orange and blue; the clouds pushing together, closing off the sky as the evening dawns. 

  


Dream doesn’t realise the noise perturbing from the saloon until he pushes open doors. The piano is playing a frantic, cheerful tune as groups of men laugh, cheer and shout together. His eyes drift to the bar, where three men are pushing a young man; laughing in his face, nudging each other as he stays silent. His hair falls in front of his eyes as he leans forward, his arms resting on the bar and hand twirling a glass. 

‘Oh-oh!’ One of the men laughs loudly. ‘Pretty boy George is too good for us now!’ He pokes George harshly in the side. 

  


Dream starts towards the bar, yet the sudden commotion stops him. He watches as George moves, elbowing the man’s stomach in one movement and reaching towards his belt in the other. He moves with a strong gracefulness that in a blink of an eye, a knife has been plunged through the hand of the man. The music stops as the man lets out a yell, a glass smashes in the face of another as he stumbles back. ‘Now,’ George pants. His eyes meet the last man’s, who staring wildly at George, fear creasing his face as he steps back. ‘Are you done?’ 

Dream steps forward, pushing the man back and pulling the knife out of the man’s hand. ‘Get out of here, you fools! Go!’ 

  


George moves back to the bar, leaning against it with a huff as the barkeep begrudgingly hands him a whiskey. Dream watches his hand curl around the glass delicately, sipping at the whiskey as his fingers touch the edges with the utmost intricacy. George puts the glass down without a sound before he lets out a quiet exhale as the spice reaches his throat.

  


‘I didn’t need your help,’ he murmurs. Dream moves to the bar, placing his hands against the wood and rubbing it thoughtfully. ‘I know,’ Dream says quietly. George clears his throat, looking at Dream with a thrilling curiosity. 

‘So,’ George begins. ‘I haven’t seen you around before.’ His voice is smooth, soft, with a distinctive accent that flows through Dream’s ears when he speaks. Dream shrugs, sipping at the whiskey. ‘I’m not staying for long.’

‘Hm.’ 

A certain unsteadiness fills Dream’s stomach like he’s been knocked into an ethereal oblivion that makes his head feel like a galaxy. Dream almost doesn’t hear George asking his name until he sees George staring at him expectantly.

‘Oh, er, Dream.’

George raises an eyebrow. ‘Your name’s Dream?’ Dream nods, with a quiet laugh. 

‘Yeah.’ George turns back to his glass with a teasing sigh. ‘What’s the story behind that one?’ Dream hesitates for a moment, rubbing the glass and watching the remaining whiskey fall around the bottom of the cup. ‘There is none. Not really… I chose it.’ 

‘Huh, what were you called before?’ 

Dream shakes his head, a small smile curls on his lips. ‘I don’t know.’ George doesn’t push any further. 

  


As the night progresses, the saloon gets quieter. The clinking of glasses turns into snores and hushed voices, the sliding of the chairs as people fall through the doors and tumble into the street. By the time the sun has sprouted across the horizon, the first inclination of the orange light that cascades across the sky and rubs away the darkness of the night, Dream is swaying gleefully at the bar. George is laughing at something he’s said, his smile is wide, reaching his eyes as he slaps the base of the bar. 

‘Oh man,’ George sighs, his smile unwavering. ‘Goddamn horses.’ 

Dream smiles. ‘You know I’ve been thrown by more horses than I care to admit.’ George shakes his head, spinning an empty glass in his hand. Dream watches him attentively, his eyes caught on his fingers balancing the cup, moving it delicately in the palm of his hand. 

  


‘You haven’t said much about yourself,’ Dream says carefully. George lets the glass fall with a _clink_ on the bar. ‘Yeah,’ George sighs. ‘There’s not much to say.’ 

‘Oh?’ 

George sits up from the bar, his elbow resting on the wood as he turns to face Dream. ‘I’m not a very interesting person, Dream.’

  


_Dream._

  


‘My family, er, yeah they don’t like me much. I was actually thinking of leaving this place soon.’ His eyes meet Dream’s, there’s a sudden glimmer that throws a loop through Dream’s mind; George’s once dark eyes are now shining, watering slightly as the spice of the whiskey settles on his tongue. Dream doesn’t say anything, he _can’t._

He feels his cheeks burning as George holds his gaze. He turns away, flustered, a strand of hair falls in his eyes as he turns to face the bar. George sniffs, his eyes glance behind Dream and out of the window. ‘God,’ he breathes. ‘It’s late- or early.’ 

Dream turns and George catches the back of his head, the intricacy that holds his hair, the golden waves that rest against his neck. He’s like a jigsaw, George thinks. Everything about him holds together perfectly, almost shining as the sun slowly illuminates the room. 

George yawns, a sudden drunken daze falls over him like a blanket as Dream’s turns back to face him. ‘I think I should get some sleep,’ he says tiredly. Dream beams, and with a quiet nod, he lets go of the bar. ‘Yeah.’ 

George starts towards the doors, his hands lingering on the panels before he turns back to Dream. ‘Come back here,’ he says. ‘Tomorrow, same time.’ 

  
  


~

  


Dream doesn’t sleep most nights. Even in the security of a bed in a locked room, he flinches at the occasional bang on the walls or the shouting in the streets. After an hour of lying in the bed, his mouth dry and mind churning- still slightly drunk- he throws his feet off the bed and dresses himself just as he had done a few hours before. The light’s now harsh, shining through his window. The beams settle on Dream’s face uncomfortably, burning his cheeks as he shuts the curtains with a huff. 

‘Goddamn George,’ he chuckles, an amused grin pulls at his cheeks. He hadn’t planned on staying in the town for more than a day, yet the curiosity gravitates towards Dream like a fog. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out his journal. Here, he marks the plants he’s found, the animals he’s hunted and the places he’s visited. It’s filled with distant memories, people who have passed and houses that have crumbled. It’s the obstacles that pierce his mind when he tries to sleep. Dream doesn’t bother reading through it, only flips to an empty page. 

  


_I’ve found myself in a strange little town close to Green Field. I wasn’t planning to stay long, only a small break before Hecuba and me carried on our journey. Yet I seem to be mildly stuck. Last night I drank with a brave man named George. Upon our meeting, he stabbed the hand of a mean feller, threw a glass at another and I’m sure would have killed the last man had I not stepped in. In his defence they were poking, prodding, shouting at him. He’s asked to see me again tonight and although I had planned to leave today, I think I might stay._

_There’s something about George, I am utterly endeared by him and his presumption. I’d like to see him again, I think._

  
  


Once the sun falls, Dream leaves for the saloon once again. He sees George leaning against the outside of the building, cigarette in hand and blowing out a long puff of smoke. His face is screwed into a serious, unmoving scowl and his eyes meet the floor. But when Dream walks up the steps and taps him on the shoulder, his face lights into a glad, almost relieved, smile. ‘Hey,’ Dream says. He starts to open the saloon doors when George stops him, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. ‘Let’s go somewhere else.’ With a nod, Dream follows George down the steps, past the townhouses until they reach the edge of town. ‘Do you have a horse?’ George asks. He’s standing next to a hitching post that holds a beautiful dark grey horse. Dream nods once again, whistling for Hecuba. 

‘She’s beautiful,’ Dream says, a trace of admiration in his voice. George smiles fondly. ‘Yeah,’ he rubs the horse’s snout. ‘Annabelle’s my little joy.’ 

Hecuba snorts in Dream’s ear as she trots next to the pair. He lets out a soft laugh as he grabs her reins. ‘Hey girl,’ he says softly, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a carrot. ‘Here.’ 

George watches Dream tend to his horse, entranced by his gentleness, his hands rubbing the horse’s snout softly. ‘What’s her name?’ He asks. 

‘Hecuba,’ Dream replies, his eyes meeting his with a certain fondness that makes George’s mouth curl into a small smile. He feels the hairs on his arms stand, his cheeks burning slightly. 

  


‘Come on, I need to get out of here,’ he says. They ride out of the town, the streetlights fading behind them, the only direction is towards the sun. In the trance of the rhythmic drum of the hooves against the soft dirt, Dream rides in a quiet daze. He finds himself staring into the horizon, studying the jagged line of the distant mountains, the trees sparring with overgrown branches that reach into the sky. George keeps his eyes on his saddle, rubbing his hand over the horn thoughtfully. His eyes drift to the back of Dream’s head; his hair is a collage of frivolous waves that reach the nape of his neck, the golden tone it takes reflects the sun and bounces rhythmically as he rides. 

  


~

  


‘So you’re what… a cowboy?’ George asks, he presses a cigarette to his lips, looking teasingly at Dream. They’re sitting atop a cliff, the sun has set and they’re watching the canyon beneath them. Dream laughs. ‘I, um, I don’t know I never thought about it.’ 

George lets out an amusing huff, his eyes linger on Dream’s face before he turns to look down. ‘And you?’ Dream asks. 

George hesitates. His eyes meet his shoes. ‘I’m a humble servant to my family.’ The bitterness that traces his voice sends a chill through Dream as he tries to meet his eye. Yet George keeps his gaze down; he fingers the cigarette thoughtfully, snubbing it on the edge of the cliff before letting out an exhausted sigh. ‘My family,’ he starts. ‘They’re… _fuck…’_

‘It’s okay, George… You don’t have to-’ 

George gets up suddenly, his feet standing dangerously on the edge of the cliff. He looks out to the canyon, the breeze plays with his hair. Dream follows, standing and looking out at the view. ‘This is better than being there,’ George murmurs. ‘Anything is better than being there.’ 

Dream nods, chewing at his lip nervously before placing his hand on George’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t you come with me?’ 

George steps back, a confused look deems his face. ‘What?’ 

‘Come with me.’ 

‘I hardly know you.’ George is looking at Dream carefully, studying every inch of his face, looking for a sign he may be joking. But it never comes. 

‘I don’t mind.’ 

‘I have no money.’ 

Dream chuckles lightly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He feels the breeze blow through his hair. ‘You can always _make_ money.’ George turns around, his back hunched as he considers this. He can feel Dream’s eyes burning into the back of his neck. 

‘You want to leave, right?’ Dream starts. ‘What I do, what _we’ll_ do, is all about being free. I move, I try to help people, I rob,’ he says the last part quietly. This pricks at George’s ears- _rob._ ‘You _are_ an outlaw, aren’t you?’ George turns around, a teasing grin pulling at the edge of his mouth. Dream shrugs, kicking the dirt at his feet. ‘I don’t consider myself anything. I do what I have to do to survive.’ 

  
  


The next day rolls through fast. Another sleepless night follows a thrilling morning as Dream stows his bag on Hecuba. His heart is hammering in his chest, his ears ringing as he rides out of town. 

_‘Meet me at the old dried-up riverbed just outside of town, you can’t miss it.’_ George had said. About ten minutes away from town, Dream finds the riverbed and sits on the edge. He anxiously rolls a cigarette and presses it to his lips. The smoke fills his lungs in a soothing fog that reaches his mind as he thinks about George. Hecuba nickers quietly behind him, stamping her hooves temperamentally. ‘You are a miserable horse, ain’t you?’ Dream says, sitting up and walking to her. ‘Here.’ He hands her a sugar cube, before reaching for his brush and brushing her mane. 

  


The distant drum of hooves catches Dream as he looks past Hecuba, where he sees George riding fast towards him. He smiles with a wave, yet when he catches the expression on George’s face, he steps forward. ‘Hey-’

‘We have to go!’ George says. His expression holds a mixture of panicked elation, he pulls on Annabelle’s reins as Dream grabs Hecuba and rides alongside George. 

‘What the hell is going on?’ Dream asks. George is riding fast and hard, away from the town, his bag resting on his back. He turns to look at Dream, a grin that Dream would become familiar with creases his face. ‘I got out.’ 

  


~

  


The sun has only just turned over the horizon when George grabs his bag. He hasn’t slept, the bags under his eyes pull his face like dead weights. He doesn’t glance back at his room, only slams the door shut and makes his way down the stairs.

‘Where are you going?’ A shrill, high voice fills the hallway as George reaches for the door-handle. George turns to face the living room, where his mother sat. She has a book in her lap and is staring sharply at him. ‘I’m meeting a friend,’ George replies shortly. 

‘Why do you have a bag?’ 

George sighs, cursing himself for being so obvious. He doesn’t reply, his eyes focused on the details of the door. 

‘Answer me!’ 

A moment passes. ‘I’m leaving.’ 

The silence is deafening, uncomfortable. Her sharp inhale and her tapping on the cover of her book fills George with a certain disdain he only feels towards this house. ‘You’re not allowed,’ she says simply. George shakes his head with a scoff. ‘I’m twenty, I can do what I want.’ 

‘Oh you’re a stupid boy, always were,’ she says fiercely. ‘You _cannot_ leave.’ 

George sighs, he turns to face his mother, trying not to falter under her flagrant glare. ‘I’m _going.’_

‘If you leave,’ she says simply. ‘You are out of this family.’

George scoffs, his grip tightens around the strap of his bag. It hangs heavy on his back. ‘It already felt like I was out, Mum.’ 

‘That’s your own fault, you know that.’ 

George shakes his head, he opens the door sharply. ‘Yeah, I guess it was.’ With a slam, he sprints down the steps and runs to Annabelle, without stowing his bag he rides out of the town, fast. 

  


A distant ache of longing itches at his chest as he rides away, his hands shake gripping the reins, feeling his chest tighten. Growing closer to the riverbed, he sees Dream. George finds himself staring at Dream, at the way he’s brushing Hecuba gently, carefully. His back arched ever so slightly, looking up in a way that makes his hair fall out of his face, exposing his neck and small smile as he stares at his horse. 

‘We have to go!’ George yells when Dream catches him. He barely stops when Dream throws himself on Hecuba and rides alongside George. ‘What the hell is going on?’ Dream asks. George suddenly feels a weight lifted, the town is behind them, behind _him._ The bag on his back and Dream is all he has now. And somehow this relieves him. 

  


‘I got out.’


	2. Outlaws from Polite Society

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After months of travelling, Dream and George realise they need some cash.

It happens all at once, their friendship. Like the migration of swallows, they flame across the country, bouncing from one state to another in a mindless daze of ecstasy. It doesn’t take long for George to grow accustomed to the hard floors and disorienting nights, the long nights that dragged as he lay half-conscious, listening to Dream’s heavy breaths and the loud wildlife. He learns that Dream wakes up early; he walks to the nearest river where he brings back a bucket of water and uses that to boil coffee. By the time George is awake, he’s sat there, sipping quietly on the coffee with a cup ready for him. And then they ride to the nearest town and drink until the sun forces them back to their camp. They sleep, close, their bedrolls touching. George oftens finds his hands lingering, feeling the shape of Dream’s shoulders, looking at the way his neck relaxes as he breathes, his eyes fluttering as he dreams. 

They ride. They’re horses bump into each other with a playful snort, kicking their legs up as Dream laughs, pulling on his reins and patting Hecuba’s mane. George slows behind him, he can never catch up, often trotting behind Dream, breathless and slightly annoyed. ‘Don’t be competitive,’ Dream retorts with a smile that curls on his lips slowly, grinning at George’s soreness. 

It happens in an instant; the friendship, the affection. Dream finds himself protecting George, from the outlaws that occasionally threaten their camp, to the wildlife that creep in the shadows when they sleep, although George scarcely needs protecting. 

_ ‘We don’t have anything to give you,’ Dream said carefully, his hand hovers over his holster, the other slowly pushing George aside. Two men stood in their camp, kicking the empty cans the pair left from the night before. ‘Yeah,’ the first man said. ‘That’s going to be a problem, ain’t it?’ He pulled out his own gun and fired. Yet, before Dream could react, George had reached into Dream’s holster, pulled out the revolver and fired two clean shots. The men fell with a thump, Dream twisted around to find George stood there with an unreadable expression. ‘You-’ Dream started.  _

_ ‘I know my way around a gun, Dream,’ George said, handing the revolver back before walking over to the bodies. ‘Wha- What? Are you okay?’ Dream asked, following George. He nods, bending down and reaching into the man’s pocket. ‘Goddamn bandits,’ George hisses. _

__

Those days turn into weeks and into months. Time passes like it’s nothing, the purposelessness of their lives for those months made their lives interconnected, they became one. Where Dream is, George is. 

‘George,’ Dream says. George is writing something in a journal, a cup balancing on his thigh. He looks up; his hair’s long, it falls on his neck. ‘We need to start getting some more money.’ George sighs, shutting his journal, taking a drink from the cup before walking to Dream. ‘Okay,’ he sighs. ‘And how do we do that?’ Dream doesn’t say anything for a moment, only regarding a loose thread on his jeans. ‘Usually,’ Dream starts. ‘Find someone wealthy and, er, rob ‘em.’ George smiles, he places his hands on his hips as he tries to meet Dream’s eye. ‘Okay then,’ he says. ‘I think we should have a look around. There’s a town not far from here, should be somethin’ worth picking up.’ 

The town, Sun Valley, is exactly as it sounds. It’s surrounded by tall, green mountains that are situated perfectly, allowing the sun to shine on the town. The summer air projects a green across the fields surrounding them, allowing the flowers to bloom in a wonderful frenzy of colour. The summer heat melts the snow, exposing a tall gray and dark green mountain. The town, albeit small in population, holds great buildings that almost tower over the pair as they make their way downtown. Dream finds Hecuba nickering softly as they pass through the green, the grass rubbing softly against her legs as they walk through the field. It fills him with a certain warmth, almost as if he can feel Hecuba’s satisfaction. George watches Dream. He sees his head hung low, a soft smile on his lips. His hair falls in front of his face, covering his eyes, only flashing the bright green as it sways with the rhythm of his horse. ‘What’s the story with that horse?’ George asks, steering Annabelle closer to Dream. 

‘Huh?’ Dream blinks. George smiles. ‘Hecuba, what’s the story?’ 

‘Oh, er, it’s nothing really. I found her when she was a foal,’ he strokes he reigns thoughtfully. ‘I was only… fourteen, maybe? I think her mom abandoned her, and I was already pretty, er, lonely. So I took her in, fed her until she grew some. Taught her how to ride when she was big enough. She was  _ nasty  _ when I tried to ride her,’ he chuckles. ‘Threw me more times than I care to remember. But she got used to me eventually.’ 

There’s no noise other than the drum of the horses hooves against the ground, the grass crunching and folding under their weights. ‘Careful of the flowers,’ George remarks. Dream looks at the ground and finds an explosion of colour. ‘Woah,’ he sighs

‘Yeah,’ George smiles. He points to the ground. ‘See those? The red ones? They’re Indian Paintbrushes. And those? The pink bush-like ones? Beardtongue.’ 

‘Woah,’ Dream repeats. He looks to George who’s leaning over his saddle, looking at the flowers. He points again. ‘Those! The hanging blue ones- Bluebells. My favourite.’ 

‘You know a lot about flowers, George,’ Dream smiles. George chuckles lightly to himself. ‘Yeah. I guess I had a lot of time to study them.’ Dream nods. His quiet fondness has grown the more time he spends with George. His ability to point at a plant and name it, his knowledge of the discourse of nature, the science behind it, fascinated and endeared Dream intensely. The quiet nights of discussion, of George looking at the moon and explaining why the Great Moon Hoax was ‘dumb’ and small minded. Then there are the times of George identifying the differences in plants, recognising those core elements that are unsafe or tainted.

_ ‘Hey, uh, Dream?’ George called. He was sitting on his legs next to the boiling pot, cutting up the herbs and mushroom Dream had gathered beforehand, throwing them into a stew. ‘Yeah?’ Dream asked, putting down his book and crouching next to George.’ ‘What is it?’ _

_ ‘You see this?’ George holds up a mushroom. It was brown, big, littered with white dots. ‘This is Amanita Pantherina, or Panther Cap. It’s big, sure, but you’ll be sick for days after eating it. Hallucinations, sickness, distortion. Trust me, avoid mushrooms like these.’  _

_ Dream sits there, mouth agape, watching George as he delicately moved the mushroom in his hand. ‘Could you die from it?’ He asked carefully. George sighed, he stood, throwing the mushroom back into the shrub before putting out a hand and lifting Dream up. ‘You could.’  _

The town appears at the bottom of a small grass mound. ‘Look at that mountain,’ Dream breathes. ‘Yeah,’ George humms. The town is almost hidden behind a flurry of trees, caging the buildings between the mountain and forestry. The townhouses line the street; tall with the sumptuous lining on the outer walls; sleek, fine oak doors and opulent clear windows. A general store stands on the corner of the street, it’s sign swinging lightly in the breeze. 

Dream pulls lightly at Hecuba’s reins, his finger reaching the horn of his saddle as he slows her to a stop. ‘George,’ he begins. He nods to a small building, almost a shack, that hides at the corner of the town. ‘Train station.’ George nods slowly, throwing a curious glance at Dream. Dream throws himself off Hecuba, George doing the same, and hitches her at a post on the outskirts of the town. ‘Most stations have clerks who give  _ tips.  _ Unguarded coaches, easy targets type thing,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m gonna head over, why don’t you get us some provisions for the road?’ George huffs, hitching Annabelle before turning crossly at Dream. ‘I can handle this, you know.’ Dream rolls his eyes. ‘I  _ know.  _ Just let me do this, you can come when we get the coach.’ 

The station is nothing impressive. It’s small, the wood mottled with specks of discolouration. It’s empty, allowing Dream to go to the clerk with ease. He reaches into his pocket and holds a five dollar note . ‘Hello there,’ the clerk greets. ‘Hey,’ Dream replies lowly. He slides the note to the man. ‘Any help would be appreciated.’ 

The man nods, taking the note and writing on a piece of paper. ‘Here,’ he says. The paper has a place, Bald Mountain, and the time, 4pm. ‘Stagecoach will be passing just behind the mountain, on the main road, at this time- you can’t miss it. Not too many guards, easy done’it.’ Dream nods with a thanks before making his way back to the horses. 

He brushes Hecuba while he waits, feeding her a wild carrot and adjusting her reins. ‘Oi,’ George says. 

‘Where you been?’ Dream asks. 

‘To the store  _ and  _ I might’ve got us a tip.’ 

Dream hesitates, looking at George carefully, following the excitement that’s coursing through his eyes. ‘How? And from who?’ George shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Guys in the bar.’ 

‘ _ George _ . We don’t need that attention right now.’ 

George huffs, he steps closer to Dream, his face shaped into a scowl. ‘No ‘ _ thanks, George _ ?’ I got us a  _ tip.  _ We don’t have to use it.’ 

With a sigh, Dream pulls himself up onto his saddle. ‘We’ll see, then. For now, let’s go with my plan, okay?’ George nods, following Dream out of the town and up the main road. 

Passing Bald Mountain is harder than Dream anticipated. With the looming pressure of time, the few hours the pair have to reach the main road, and the mountain only grows the more they push on. ‘You don’t even want to  _ hear  _ my plan?’ George whines, following Dream through the shrub. Dream doesn’t reply, only looks onward. ‘Down there,’ he says. They stop at the edge of the mountain, pointing down to the faint road. ‘That’s where we have to go.’ 

‘ _ Dream. _ ’

‘What?’ The impatience echoes through Dream’s voice. 

‘How are we supposed to work together if you don’t trust me?’ 

Dream’s eyes meet Georges’, the sunlight glows around the ring of his eyes, the brown radiating. A slight warmth fills Dream, the tension releasing from his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m sorry.’ 

‘What’s up with you? We’re in this together aren’t we?’ 

‘We are, we are. I’m just- I’ve never had to protect anyone before. Usually, on a job, I’m alone. If something happens, it only happens to me, right?’ George shakes his head softly, a fond smile cursing his lips. ‘You don’t have to protect me. We protect each other.’ 

The evening begins to fall as they reach the road; the gentle coldness settles on their faces, reddening their noses. The sky’s blue fades into a deep orange, it casts a strong silhouette across Dream as he pulls Hecuba into a clearing of trees. The tension is tangible, laying thickly onto Dream’s back and mind as he throws himself off the saddle, hitching her reins onto a branch. George follows suit, doing the same while carefully watching Dream. 

The air between them has shifted, a slight sense of authority exudes from Dream, his face strewn into an earnest frown as he looks up the road. ‘Okay,’ he breathes. He pulls George’s arm close to him, pointing over his shoulder. ‘If the clerk’s got this right, they’ll be comin’ down towards us in a bit.’ 

‘Okay,’ George says, nerves tracing his voice as he tries to straighten his back, feigning a concentrated frown. Dream’s breath leaves warmth on his cheek, the hair on his arms stand, the warmth rushing to his stomach like a weight. It’s almost unbearable, the yearning for him to be closer, for his hair to fall with his, for their breathes to sync into one. He feels Dream’s heart against his back, it’s drumming fast, hard. Maybe he’s feeling the same, that feeling of almost loss as he tries to grasp that sensation, but feels it slip through his fingers like a vapour. 

‘You wanna be a part of this?’ Dream asks, almost a whisper. He hasn’t let go of his shoulders, hasn’t moved his face away from George’s. 

‘More than ever,’ George replies, releasing it on a slow breath. Dream smiles, that familiar, fond smile he only ever sees when it’s George. 

‘You’re gonna follow my lead then,’ Dream starts. ‘I need you to stop the coach.’ George twists around, a macabre curiosity pulling at his stomach. ‘Huh?’ 

‘Act drunk, or hurt or something. You need to go out into the road and stop the coach.’ 

‘And what’re you gonna do?’ 

Dream fingers the revolver, rolling the cylinder in a performative twist. ‘I’m gonna rob ‘em.’ 

George insists he doesn’t need any guidance, walking to the edge of the road and leaving Dream by the horses. ‘Dream!’ He hisses. ‘It’s coming, be ready!’ 

A moment passes before Dream joins George at the side of the road, staring intensely at the distance. ‘Huh,’ Dream says thoughtfully. 

‘What?’ George whispers. Dream shrugs his shoulders. ‘No, no, nothing. There’s just usually more guards with this type of thing.’ George looks back at the coach. There’s a driver and a passenger, who has a rifle resting on his lap; the back of the coach holds a metal door and the windows barred. ‘Okay George, do your thing.’ 

George steps out into the road, clutching his side with a loud dramatic groan. He falls, the middle of the road now blocked with his ‘unconscious’ body . Dream crouches behind a fallen boulder, his back pressing against the cold hard surface, his gun in hand. He pulls his bandana over his nose, listening intently. 

‘Fucks sake,’ the driver murmurs. ‘Go move him would you?’ 

‘What?’ The passenger bites. ‘He looks hurt we should help him.’ 

‘I don’t care what you do with him, just get him out the way.’ 

George’s face is pressed into the dirt, the dust collecting in his mouth and nose and entering his chest as he stifles a cough. He feels the hands of the passenger turn him over- he makes his body limp, mouth hang open, eyes shut tight. He’s on his back, his hands fall to his side. 

‘Ah fuck,’ the man mumbles. ‘I think he’s dead!’

‘Jesus Christ, just move him!’ The driver calls. 

Dream jumps out from behind the rock, his gun held high. The man scatters back, away from George who jumps up. ‘Alright fellas,’ Dream begins, taking a step towards the coach. ‘Give us whatever cargo you’re carrying, and no one is gonna get shot.’ George hangs back, following Dream with his own gun pointed at the passenger. The driver hesitates for a moment, his glare set on Dream, his hand hovering over the rifle next to him. 

Dream’s focus on the driver makes him miss the quick trots of hooves making their way up the road. ‘They’re being robbed!’ Someone yells. The driver quickly grabs the rifles and fires at Dream, yet he’s already by George’s side, dragging him behind the cover of trees. ‘You okay?’ Dream asks breathlessly, he hasn’t let go of George’s arm. ‘I’m good,’ George replies. He looks at the coach, it’s unmoved yet the group that has gathered begin to make their way closer to the pair. 

‘There’s like eight guys here,’ Dream whispers. 

‘What’re we gonna do?’ 

Dream hesitates for a moment. He looks at the ammo in his gun, it’s enough to take down four guys. ‘How much ammo you got?’ 

George takes out his gun and opens the barrel. ‘Like six rounds.’ Dream nods, a small excited smile fills his lips. ‘Okay then. Let’s get these bastards.’ 

The gunfire buzz in Dream’s ears. He feels the knockback of the gun stretch up his arm and down to his feet as he leaves cover and fires. Two men fall, their horses charge past Dream and into the treeline. ‘Fuck!’ He hears someone yell. He turns around, finding George standing behind him, the concentration eases through his face; he bites his lip, raising his gun, nodding his head and getting hair out of his eyes. When he fires, he does so perfectly. His back stretches, almost curved like a dancer as he dodges a bullet. Dream’s brought back to reality when he feels a bullet slice the skin on his arm. ‘Shit,’ he hisses. He clutches his arm and looks back to George, who is standing with his gun raised. His face is creased in an attentive frown, his eyes focusing on the wagon. ‘George-’ Dream calls. George saunters slowly to the wagon, where hidden is the last two men. Dream follows and watches as George fires two bullets to the men. 

‘Jesus,’ Dream says. ‘That was…’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

A moment passes. ‘You okay?’ George asks, he holds Dream’s arm carefully, looking at where the blood has pooled. ‘Yeah, yeah I’m fine. You?’ 

George nods. ‘Let’s get this done then,’ he sighs. George opens the door to the wagon and steps inside as Dream watches. He scuffles around before pulling out a lockbox. ‘This it?’ He asks. 

‘Should be, give it here,’ Dream replies. He places the box on the ground and pulls out his gun. ‘You might wanna cover your ears,’ he says. George rolls his eyes and puts his hands over his ears as Dream fires his gun at the lock. It shatters, and with a pleased huff, Dream opens the box. ‘No- What?’

‘What’s in it?’ 

Dream sighs. He stands up, holding a small bill stack. ‘Not much… Fuck. It must’ve been a goddamn decoy.’ 

‘What?’

Dream hands George the stack and whistles for Hecuba. ‘A decoy. Businesses do it sometimes to catch thieves. People like us.’ George doesn’t say anything, only stands by Dream’s side, leaning into him as they wait. 

  
  
  


‘How’s your arm?’ The sky’s turned dark, the only light being one from the campfire. George is sitting with his leg propped up, his arm resting on his knee. Dream looks at him; he’s glowing, he thinks. Like the sun. 

‘Oh,’ Dream says. He’d forgotten about it, so he rolls up his sleeve. ‘It’s fine.’ 

George moves closer to Dream, placing himself in front of his arm. He looks closely, touches his arm delicately, his fingers trace the edge of the cut. Dream feels his eyes follow the long, bloody line where the bullet grazed; his gaze burns into him. It’s worse than the wound itself, his touch, his breath, him. ‘It’s gonna need stitches, Dream.’ 

‘I’ll be fine,’ Dream says, but George is already in his satchel, pulling out a medical kit. ‘I’m surprised I haven’t had to use this sooner,’ George mumbles.

‘Shut up,’ Dream replies, taking off his shirt and looking at his gash. 

George chuckles. He sits cross-legged in front of Dream’s arm, taking out a bottle of whiskey and pours it over his arm. Dream winces, holding his breath with his eyes screwed shut. ‘Sorry,’ George breathes. 

‘’S okay.’ 

George holds Dream’s arm, his fingers are cold; Dream feels the imprint he leaves, even when he lets go to grab a cloth. He rubs the wet cloth down his arm, down the tracks of blood that case his arm like rivers. George is gentle, concentrated; his mouth is slightly open, his eyes fixated on being as careful as possible. Dream watches him, his heart starts slightly, the rhythmic drum against his chest now fastens, his legs feel strangely numb, like he’s drunk. He hisses when George gets closer to the cut. ‘Sorry,’ George whispers. He’s more gentle now. He dips the cloth in the water, it drips down Dream’s arm in a playful romp of titillation. Dream wipes the water away when it reaches his hand. ‘Quit moving,’ George says. His hand is wrapped around his bicep, it’s still wet, the water casing his fingers in a cold swathe. 

‘Okay,’ George begins, putting away the cloth and holding the kit in his lap. ‘You might want a swig of that, this is gonna hurt.’ 

Dream grabs the whiskey, taking a few drinks, wincing at the taste it leaves in the back of his throat. ‘Gah,’ he gasps. ‘Gross.’ 

Dream makes a mental note to minimize his complaining when George begins. So when he pushes the needle through, he screws his eyes shut and bites his lip. ‘You okay?’ George asks. Dream doesn’t reply, only looks at him with a nod. ‘Okay. I’ll go as fast as I can.’ 

It doesn’t take long for George to reach the last edge of the cut. He holds his breath, pushing the needle through and tying off the thread. He doesn’t tell Dream he’s done, he doesn’t move his body or let go of his arm. He doesn’t realize he’s still holding his breath, or notices the slight tremor that accompanies his fingers. ‘George?’ Dream says quietly, he’s looking at him now, his eyes soft, watering. 

George looks up, their eyes meet. There’s smoke between them, hindering their vision, obruating their throats. It’s suffocating. ‘George?’ Dream repeats lowly, his voice almost a whisper. It rings through George’s ears, the way he says his name; soft, almost like a velvet. Dream touches George’s hand that’s still on his arm, squeezing it playfully until he lets go. It falls into George’s lap, his hair hangs in front of his eyes. ‘Dream,’ George says. ‘You’re finished.’ 

Dream chuckles. ‘Yeah, I guessed… Thank you.’ 

The stifling silence returns. The fog that has chased them, reaches them here. Dream still feels George’s touch lingering where he laid his fingers on his bicep, tracing the cut carefully with the tip of his fingers, pushing gently where it’s swollen. Before Dream can think, his hand carefully touches George’s hair, pushing it behind his ears, holding up his face so their eyes meet again. ‘You’re killing me,’ Dream breathes. His hands cup George’s cheeks, they’re hot, almost flushed. His eyes are red, brimming with tears. ‘Why are you crying?’ Dream whispers. 

‘I don’t know.’ 

Dream feels George’s breath on his chin, it’s almost impossible for him. ‘George,’ he puffs. ‘What are you…’

George holds the back of Dream’s neck, pulling him in until their lips crash. Like a fall from a cliff, their stomach’s rise in exhilaration; that long wait and the fog has cleared. They move in sync; Dream is gentle, almost scared of hurting George. He holds his face tight, clumsily moving his lips with George’s. He tastes of tobacco and whiskey, the spice now reaching his own lips. When they separate, George sits back. He looks at Dream, awestruck- his hair is messy, lips still parted as he comprehends what happened. ‘God,’ George sighs. ‘Oh my god.’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

A moment passes and they laugh. They laugh and laugh, holding their faces as their cheeks burn, biting their lips and feeling where their lips touched. ‘Man,’ Dream sighs. ‘Here.’ He holds out a cigarette before placing another between his lips.

  
  
  


Dream wakes before George. He sits up with a stretch, his back clicking in the right places. He takes a bucket down to the stream they’re camped near, filling it and putting it on the fire. Dream watches as George sleeps; his chest rising and falling, he watches his breath appear then disappear in pools of white clouds. The water bubbles; he shoves coffee grounds into the pot before letting the water fill it; steam rushes out. ‘Ow,’ he hisses when the steam smoulders his hand. He wiped the water on his jeans before reaching for two cups, and when the coffee begins to boil, he fills one and sits back in his bedroll. 

The sun shines through the trees, the morning sky paints a pink and orange abstraction- the clouds billow in small herds, chasing the morning residue. 

George shifts in his bedroll before blinking awake. The sunlight is harsh on his tired eyes, he squints, finding Dream sitting there. His eyes are closed, cup in hand, legs crossed; his lackadaisical state spreading a warmth down George’s back. ‘Morning,’ he says. Dream opens his eyes with a small smile. ‘Hey.’ 

Dream reaches for the coffee pot, pouring some into a cup and handing it to George. He takes it thankfully, sitting back. ‘I had an idea, Dream.’

‘What is it?’ 

George reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. ‘I know yesterday, the stage was a setup, right? But, I still have my tip.’ He hands Dream the paper, who opens in a takes a few considering moments before looking back up at George. He smiles, that familiar, cocky smile that always got on George’s nerves. Until now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was very happy to get this fic started, how better to do that other than a stagecoach robbery? thank you so so much to saint for reading through this chapter, for you there’s going to be so much more flower-george beloved <3   
> if you enjoyed please leave a kudos, it means a lot <3

**Author's Note:**

> hii this is my first dnf fic, and since i love cowboys i saw the chance to write a western fic :]] I'm really excited for this fic, and without the help of my very good friend, [saint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintaches/profile), i would never have started this! (thank u saint for helping me ilysm <3)  
> also if you enjoyed please leave a kudos and a comment it means a lot! <33


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